Christian's Story
by Lady Viola Delesseps
Summary: "The Moulin Rouge...where the rich and powerful come to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. And the most beautiful of all these was the star of the Moulin Rouge. This is a story about love. The woman I loved is . . . dead." Heartbroken, young Christian pens his tale of freedom, truth, beauty, and above all, love. Love that lifts us up where we belong...
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is inspired by the movie Moulin Rouge, in which the Christian writes his story. This is the story he wrote. I use instances of intimate relations outside of wedlock not because I advocate it, but because it a necessary part of Baz Luhrmann's story. Enjoy, and please review! - Lady Viola

My name is Christian. That is all you need to know for now. And this is my story.

The Moulin Rouge... a nightclub, a dance hall and a bordello. Ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures. Where the rich and powerful come to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. And the most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved, Satine, a courtesan. She sold her love to men. They called her the "Sparkling Diamond", and she was the star . . . of the Moulin Rouge. This is a story about love. For the woman I loved is . . . dead.

I first came to Paris one year ago. It was 1899, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Harold Zidler or Satine. The world had been swept up in the Bohemian Revolution. And I traveled from London to be a part of it. On a hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre. It was not like my father had said, "A village of sin," righteous indignation lighting a fire in his eyes and bristling his white beard. It was the center of the Bohemian world with musicians, painters, and writers. They were known as the "Children of the Revolution." Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence. I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and that which I believe in above all things . . . Love.

My father would growl at me and snarl in derision. "Always this ridiculous obsession with love!" But I knew that it was the most important thing in the world – the feeling that is stronger than a tidal wave and more tender than a feather's touch, the emotion, the sensation that would rip worlds apart to bind two people together forever. There was only one problem – I've never been in love. Luckily, right at that moment an unconscious Argentinean fell through my roof. He was quickly joined by a dwarf dressed as a nun. He was a ridiculous sight and spoke with a lisp.

"How do you do? My name is Henri de Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec Montfa. I'm terribly sorry about all this. We were just upstairs rehearsing a play." A play, something very modern called "Spectacular, Spectacular," Tolouse told me. "And it's set in Switzerland!" I shook my head in an attempt to clear it, sure I was hallucinating. It was real. Unfortunately the unconscious Argentinean suffered from a sickness called Narcolepsy. Tolouse proceeded to explain in an animated pantomime,

"Happily fine one moment then suddenly-" he dropped his head to one side and snorted merrily, "-Unconscious the next."

Just then, a voice from above made me nearly jump from my skin. Peering down from the hole in my ceiling – their floor- was a man who appeared to be the Argentinian's doctor, his brow corrugated with concern.

"How is he?" he asked, joined by two other men dressed in bizarre assortments of clothing and stage makeup. One of the men whom I at first thought was a woman until he began to speak, and even then I had my doubts said,

"How wonderful now that narcoleptic Argentinean is now unconscious. And therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow." He threw up his hands in sarcastic elation.

The other man beckoned wildly toward the dwarf dressed as a nun. "Quick Toulouse, I still have to finish the music!"

Toulouse shrugged. " We'll just find someone to read the part."

The man who looked like a woman (whose name, I was to discover, was Audrey) looked positively put out. "Oh, where in heavens are we going find someone to read the role of the young sensitive Swiss poet goat herder?"

Before I knew it, I was upstairs standing in for the unconscious Argentinean. The room was no bigger than my own but seemed so much smaller on account of it being crammed with every sort of stage rig, backdrop, and musical instrument imaginable. I was dressed as a goatherd complete with the hat and feather to ornament the brim. Perched on the side of ladder which was standing in temporarily for the Swiss Alps, I watched the men rehearse and argue, and then rehearse some more, and argue some more while the Argentinian was laid prone upon the disorderly bed. There was an elaborate piano-like instrument which bore the name "Absinthesizer" on the front, and the man working it set off a variety of pyrotechnics while punctuating Toulouse's song with various noises and clangor. I could not understand him at all, owing to the accompaniment, but Audrey had other ideas. He hurried over to the man – named Satie – at the Absinthesizer.

"Oh stop, stop, stop, stop! That insufferable droning is drowning out my words. Can we please just stick to a little decorative piano?"

The man set up a protest: there seem to be artistic differences over Audrey's lyrics to  
Satie's songs. They tried to resume rehearsal as Satie huffed and prepared to do as bidden. One of the men, with a long scraggly beard that reminded me of my father, began to warble while I remained on my perch,

"The hills are animated with the euphonious symphony of descant..."

Satie could hold back no longer and broke out,

"What if he sings 'The hills are vital intoning the descant'?"

The man with the beard shook his head. "No, no, no, the hills are-"

Suddenly, the Argentinean came to and sat up on the bed, his eyes wild. "The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies!" he slurred, and then promptly fell back in a second narcoleptic faint. All attention reverted to the man with the beard, and no one paid attention to me as I tried to catch someone's eye.

"No..." the man began, and I jumped in.

"The- the hills –"

"The hills are chanting..." the man with the beard interrupted, waving a hand and groping for the proper phrase. Everyone else joined in.

"The hills are chanting –

"The hills are vibrant, ah... enlivened –"

"The hills are animated – "

"The hills are cognizant... "

It was not working so finally I threw back my head and burst out in song,

"The hills are alive with the sound of music...!"

All heads turned like puppets attached to a single string and stared at me, a mixture of elation and awe on their faces. The Argentinean came to leapt to his feet, bellowing,

"The hills are alive with the sound of music! I love it!"

The three men echoed back my lyrics in three parts and burst into ecstatic laughter.

"It fits perfectly!" exclaimed Satie.

I didn't leave it there. "-With songs they have sung for a thousand years..."

All of the Bohemians gasped. Toulouse's mouth was agape. "Incanderferous!" he breathed. At least I think that's what he said. He went on, turning to his manager, "Audrey, you two should write the show together!"

But Toulouse's suggestion that Audrey and I write the show together was not what Audrey wanted to hear.

He begged everyone's pardon, and upon the matter being clarified, he left, slamming the door behind with an appalled,

"_Goodbye_!"

Toulouse turned to me. "Your first job in Paris!" He grinned, showing off his tiny square teeth.

"No offense," Satie cocked his head. "But have you ever written anything like this before?"

I could only be honest. "No," I replied. I was worried they would throw me back through the hole in the floor into my room. But the Argentinean exploded,

"Ah! The boy has talent!" He reached out to strike me on the chest or something, but on account of my elevated position, he struck me somewhat lower. I jumped, and everyone held their breath. The Argentinean whisked his hand away. and laughed awkwardly.

"Nothing funny. I just like talent."

Toulouse was dancing around singing, "'The hills are alive with the sound of music.' See Satie, with Christian we can write this truly Bohemian Revolutionary show that we've always dreamt of!" I joined in their gaity and began to descend the ladder as the men suddenly realized something and grew significantly quieter. Satie adjusted his glasses and said gravely,

"Yes, but how will we convince Zidler?"

But Toulouse had a plan.

"Satine..." he hissed, grinning madly. They would dress me in the Argentinian's best suit and pass me off as a famous English writer. Once Satine heard my modern poetry, she would be astounded and insist to Zidler that I write "Spectacular, Spectacular." The only problem was I kept hearing my father's voice in my head...

"You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can-can dancer!" I had trembled from head to foot, but it hadn't stopped me from buying the ticket and boarding the train. Suddenly, I began to wonder just what I had gotten myself into. A wave of terror washed over me.

"No!" I exclaimed, pushing through the huddle, and beginning to beat my hasty retreat. "I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!"

Toulouse stopped me as they all clustered around, their faces close to mine. "Why not?" His voice was pitched high with disbelief. I stuttered,

"I-I don't even know if I am a true Bohemian Revolutionary."

"Do you believe in beauty?" Toulouse demanded.

"Yes," I had to admit.

"Freedom?" the man with the beard chimed in.

"Yes, of course."

"Truth?" Satie's eyebrows were sky-high.

"Yes," I nodded. It was true.

"Love?"

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the bearded man.

"Love? Love." I nodded vigorously. "Above all things I believe in love. Love is like...  
oxygen." I knew I was preaching, but these men believed as I do, so I let it go like I never could before my father and brother. "Love is a many splendored thing – love lifts us up to where we belong. All you need is love!"

The Bohemians' faces were enraptured. Toulouse found his voice first amongst the incoherant gasps and sighs.

"See, you can't fool us. You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution."

"We can't be fooled!" The others exclaimed, taking me in arm and hauling me back into the room as Toulouse screeched,

"Let's drink to the new writer of the world's first Bohemian Revolutionary show!"

It was a fantastic plan. I was to audition for Satine and I would taste my first glass of . . . Absinthe.

The moment it passed through the doors of my mouth and descended my throat with a burning sensation I gasped and looked around me as the world spun. Staring hard at the bottle from which the drink had been poured, my eyes were drawn to a sprite-like creature posing on the label. Suddenly, from the greenish haze the slender beautiful little creature seemed to come to life and step from the label, streaking around the room and dazzling us all. She seemed to speak to me exclusively, telling me she was the Green Fairy.

I laughed like a lunatic even while sweat broke out on my brow and joined in the melody my new friends shouted about me.

"The hills are alive with the sound of music!" The Green Fairy sang with us – with me. We sang for freedom, beauty, truth, and love. The hills were alive with the sound of music, and I could not fool the children of the revolution.


	2. Chapter 2

We were off to the Moulin Rouge, and I was to perform my poetry for Satine. The Moulin Rouge was run by Harold Zidler and his infamous girls. They called them his "Diamond Dogs."

It was a raging, seething maw of flamboyancy, festivity, bedazzlement, befuddlement, dissipation, and delight. Everywhere, on all sides, from the Red Mill's doors, across the courtyard in which stood an enormous secluded chamber built to look like an elephant, and through the double doors of the club, I was surrounded by creatures with enormous amounts of fabric in their skirts which they flashed at a dizzying speed to us, their customers, and with hardly anything covering them on the upper half. I had never seen such things except once when the maid caught fire and we had to strip her down to her underclothing to stop the scorched fabric from searing her skin. And that was not a pleasant sight. This however, was different. I was enthralled – a little frightened, and probably looking as naïve as an acolyte, but pleasantly so. It was an overwhelming mass of noise, color, fabric, and skin, and it happened so fast that I could not look away even if I had wanted to. The band played a raucous hypnotic beat somewhere in the background of what had been aptly termed, "The Underworld." I would not have been surprised if indeed the Absinthe had been poison, and I was dead.

"Voulez vous coucher avec moi? Ce soir?" That was the catchphrase of the night – it was ringing in my ears which were bombarded on all sides: "You want to sleep with me? This evening?"

I managed to shake my head at most of them, and the Bohemians drug me through the dancing swirling mob in a blur, I hardly realizing that I was dancing the best I could along with them, and shouting various things at intervals in the song which Harold Zidler himself led, his robust voice dyeing his cheeks with a deep flush. Someone asked me a question, and I heard the reply shouted back in a familiar voice – mine...

"Cause it's good for your mind!"

We finally made it to a table along the wall, years later, it seemed. Toulouse had to yell at me to be heard over the mob.

"Christian! Mission accomplished! We successfully invaded seat one!" While my dazed mind was trying to make sense of what he meant and how he knew my name, the music abruptly ended and the lights were dimmed. The crowd grew silent, and soon I saw what had silenced them. Satine.

"It's her, the "Sparkling Diamond," Toulouse whispered for my benefit. She was seated on a trapeze that was lowered from the ceiling, dressed in a diamond-studded costume and holding only lightly to the ropes as she opened her scarlet lips and began her song. So that is how I first saw her. But someone else was to meet Satine that night. Zidler's investor... the Duke. It turned out that he was seated in the very next booth, and had I been listening, I could have heard the probably conversation. But I was entranced by the red-haired siren swinging above me on the wings of the night.

"When am I going to meet the girl?" he must have asked. Zidler must have been there, because he alone would have known the answer.

"After her number, I've arranged a special meeting with you and Mademoiselle Satine; totally alone."

I did not take my eyes from her as she soared over the crowd, her voice soaring even higher than her slender legs, while she trailed a gloved hand along the top-hatted crowd that reached up, ravenous for her angel touch. Toulouse interrupted my silent worship.

"After her number, I've arranged a private meeting with just you and Mademoiselle Satine – totally alone," he gloated, his eyes squinting into slits above his tiny pince-nez spectacles. My mind came to life at last, panic rising in me.

"Alone?" I swallowed, my heart lurching in my chest. The Bohemians leaned in, chorusing under their breath,

"Totally alone..."

On the dance floor, Satine led the group of debonaire gents through an elaborate routine on her trail, and then mounted a platform upon which the dancing girls held up their skirts – undersides toward us, not them – to provide a wall behind which Satine must have been effecting a change. I felt a hot blush stain my face at the antics of the other women; whereas Satine had been mesmerizing, this was becoming just a little strange to me. Toulouse leapt to his feet and began to make a dash through a gap he sighted in the crowd, and crashed headlong into the knees of a waiter who spilt the drink he carried all over the man in the next booth – the Duke.

"Oh – sorry, sorry..." I heard him gasp. Then he was in my face. "Excuse me, Christian, may I borrow?" He snatched the starched hanky – which wasn't mine in the first place, the hanky, along with every other article I wore excepting underwear belonging to the Argentinian– and began to scrub at the Duke's shirtfront, regardless of the Duke's exclamations and the attempted rescue by the waiter.

"I say, leave him be!" the valet of the Duke must have shouted, or something like that, for I heard Toulouse lisp,

"Stupid bourgeois pig!" He snorted in derision – a very fitting impersonation. The valet pulled back his coat tail to reveal a pistol in his pocket and Toulouse shrunk away, squeaking an apology, and reached his seat next to me without the hanky, but with his head. I leaned over to speak to him, but suddenly there she was, before me, dressed in some sort of pink hued wonderment. Her eyes met mine and my breath was gone as she tipped her chin down into her her lovely pale neck, and held out her hands.

"I believe you were expecting me," she said in a low voice that I doubted anyone but me could hear.

"Yes...yes –" I breathed. This must have displeased her because she gave a sort of yelp and began to spin the tails of her costume around, whimpering and backing up until her fanny was in my face, the feathers tickling my nose and making me shrink back in horror. At last she broke off spread her arms wide to the crowd.

"I'm afraid it's ladies choice," she smirked, turning, and pulling me to my feet. My head spun. I heard Toulouse say somewhere behind us,

"I see you already met my English friend!"

She tossed her head and called over her shoulder, "I'll take care of it, Toulouse." Then she turned to me, her eyes glinting. "Let's dance!" I heard Toulouse call after us as Satine whisked me with her to the center of the dance floor,

"He writes the world's most modern poems!"

I hardly had time to realize what was happening before the music began to pulse and Satine pulled me through the dance, making arms numb, my legs weak, and blood rush to places I'd never paid attention to before. She didn't seem to notice my bumbling, but said, her arms thrown around my neck,

"So wonderful of you to take an interest in our little show." The vigours of the dance had mussed her bright hair and it was a wonderful sight to behold as she tossed it out of her way and continued weaving her spell about me.

"Sounds very exciting, I'd be delighted to be involved."

She looked surprised. "Really?"

I tried to remain humble, wondering if this wasn't a dream after all. "Assuming you like what I do, of course," I said.

Satine pursed her lips. "I'm sure I will." There was a long musical interlude full of intricate gyrations that I was quickly – but not quickly enough – taking in, and when we returned to each others arms, I managed to say,

"Toulouse thought we might be able to do it in private."

"Did he?"

"Yes, you know a private... poetry reading..." I trailed off as she drew her face close to mine and breathed, "Oh... hmmm... a poetry reading?"

The dance threw us apart, and she advanced on me, her hands clawing at my shirt front and making me shrink away, growling,

"I love a little poetry after supper!" And then she was gone, to finish her song, and I was left alone in the middle of the dance floor, feeling like I was going to faint or be sick, or both. Somehow I made it back to my seat – I suspect with some help – and watched with a dry mouth the conclusion to Satine's musical performance on the trapeze. Words from ending her song, the crowd hanging on her every note, she stopped short. The room was absolutely silent, and then the music rallied, and then the finale would follow with an explosion of sound... instead, the only noise in the room was a ragged gasp as the beauty on the trapeze swayed, and then began to fall... I don't remember what I felt or thought at that time, but Zidler's shout filled my ears as she rushed toward the floor – and landed in the arms of a muscular dark-skinned man. He looked about in consternation, and at Zidler's frantic gesture bore her limp form from the room. All I remember was the way her pale arms trailed behind her like the broken branches of a willow and the swaying of the tumbling mass of her red hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Assuring me it was all part of the plan, the Bohemians ushered me from the room with haste and I waited for the next hour in the elephant. Gradually my mind began to clear, and I wondered what on earth I was going to tell the beautiful Satine... words usually flowed from me like a river,; they were constantly bouncing around and clashing together with glorious resonance inside my head, but now – when I should be so inspired – when I had a group of new friends relying on me – I could think of nothing. Just before I gave in to the urge to let out a groan the door swung open behind me, and there was Satine, clad in a red evening dress. I stared, I'm sure.

"Evening..." she murmured, sauntering behind the dressing screen and beginning – I realized – to remove her clothing.

"I – I liked your dress," I stammered. "Y-you should have left it on..." She interrupted me with a sudden appearance from behind the screen. I immediately looked a the floor in shock, but slowly lifted my eyes up her form, which was draped a costume the likes of which I have never seen. I rested my eyes on her beautiful face. She tilted her head to one side.

"This is a wonderful place for poetry reading don't you think, hmm?" She gestured around her to our lavish surroundings – truth be told, I had hardly realized the gaudy wealth of the place we were in my frantic nervousness over the lack of a poem. "Poetic enough for you?"

"Yes," I managed to say, watching as she made her way over to a table spread with fruit, cheese, wine, and I know not what.

"A little supper? Maybe some champagne?" Her back to me, she lifted a bottle from it's bowl of ice and held it aloft.

"I'd rather, just... get it over and done with," I found myself saying in a small voice. She slammed the bottle back down into the ice with a crunch that made me jump.

"Oh?" She turned to face me, and then her expression changed. "Very well, then..." She went to the bed – an elaborate display of richly-textured pillows and covers – and lowered herself to it's soft recesses. "Why don't you come down here and let's... get it over and done with."

I had no idea what she was talking about – and if I had an inkling of what she meant I'd rather not pursue it any further, so I said,

"I – I'd prefer to do it standing."

Satine's long delicate brows shot upwards. "Oh?"

I rushed onward. "You don't have to stand I mean. Sometimes . . . it's quite long. And I-I'd like you to be comfortable. It's quite modern what I do, and it may feel a little strange at first but-but I think if you're open then-then you might enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will," purred Satine, lying back and heaving a deep sigh.

"Excuse me." I turned around to collect my thoughts, and began, "The sky is –"

A moan came from the bed, and I glanced over my shoulder, and then quickly back again. _Focus, Christian... _"Is – ah... blue – birds – oh..." I stretched my lips and blew them together, wondering why it would not come, and trying to ignore the various noises emanating from the beautiful and strange woman behind me. "Come on..." I blew again. "Come on... I think –"  
Satine emitted some sort of animal noise, and I resisted the urge to turn round and see what exactly it was that she was doing.

"I think the mountains... might be shaking... oh..." I clicked my tongue in nervousness, trying to find out why the words wouldn't come, desperate for a phrase which would set my thoughts in motion. I heard Satine sit up, as she asked,

"Is everything alright?"

"I'm just a little nervous... It's just hat sometimes it takes a while for, ah..."

"Ohhhh..." she breathed, getting to her feet and approaching me, listening for more.

"For, you know... inspiration to come," I finished, giving her a weak smile.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes..." she exhaled, her breath reaching me and flooding my nostrils with the scent of vanilla and something else exotic and strange to me. "Let me help."

She reached down and suddenly I was filled with an entirely new and not altogether unpleasant feeling. Still, I recoiled, my eyes large as she leaned close. "Does that inspire you?" And with surprising strength, she grabbed me by my lapels and sent me reeling onto the bed. She loomed over me, her hair brushing my face as her weight pressed me deep into the bed and she fumbled with the buttons on my clothing. I panicked when I heard her say it: "_Let's make love!_" I echoed her like an idiot, as her hands roved over me and she threw her head back, gasping and making me wonder if she was not deranged. But soon I was gasping myself. She growled, writhing upon me like a wild creature,

"You want to, don't you?"

"Well – I – I... came to..." My eyes rolled back as I opened my mouth and caught her wrists; she ignored my tacit protests and continued her antics.

"Hm, tell the truth. Feel the poetry... come one... feel it!" I was feeling something entirely different, and drew my brows together as Satine's weight on top of me grew heavier. She moaned and growled like a wildcat and I let out a few noises myself as she yanked at my clothing and said all manner of things I could not understand nor recount.

"Yes, I need your poetry now!" she panted, and leaned back. I tried to escape and ended up tumbling both of us to the floor. I scrambled to my feet and with shaking hands attempted to close the openings in my clothing.

"It's a little bit funny..." I faltered.

"What?" She stared at me in shock from behind her masses of hair.

"This f-feeling in-inside. I'm not one of those who can– who can easily hide. Is this- is this okay? Is this what you want?"

She fell back in a ripple of laughter "Oh poetry, yes, yes, yes this is what I want, naughty words. Ohh!" I furrowed my brow and turned my back as she began to wallow in the blankets on the floor. "I-I don't have much money, but if I did I'd buy us a big house where we both could live..." I winced – what a horrible effort, but Satine didn't seem to notice. She continued to roll about, beating the floor and howling like a hurt animal,

"Oh yes, yes... Oh yes...!"

So I continued. "If I were a sculptor, but then again no. Or a man who makes potions for a traveling show –"

She had rolled up in a furry blanket on the floor and was yipping like a small dog. "Oh... oh..  
no... no – don't stop..."

I was now fully convinced that she had lost her mind, but continued as earnestly as I could,

"I know it's not much but –"

Her voice escalated to a screech and I nearly made a run for it. "Give me more, yes... yes! YES!"

"But it's the best I could do –"

"Naughty! Naughty! Don't stop! Don't stop –" she screamed, and I did the only thing left to me. It had silenced the rantings of the Bohemians and maybe it would silence the ravings of this lunatic beauty. I burst into song, and she stopped, mesmerized. Focusing on the words, and drawing strength and encouragement from her gaze which never left mine, as I sang the song all the way through, realizing by the end that I meant every word:

"...I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world!" When I finished, she looked at me in awed silence and slowly rose, drawing me into a gentle tender embrace. She didn't take her eyes from mine as she breathed,

"Oh, I can't believe it. I'm in love." I couldn't believe it either, and we brushed noses as I tightened my arms around her waist, hearing her voice drift up to me. "I'm in love with a young,  
handsome talented Duke."

I chuckled. "Duke?"

"Not that the title's important of course," she murmured back.

"I'm not a duke," I said with a smile. She pulled back so she could look into my eyes again.

"Not a duke?"

"I'm a writer."

She looked almost disgusted. "A writer?"

"Yes," I admitted. "A writer."

She removed her arms from my back and stepped away, the air in the room feeling cold to me after the warmth of her nearness.

"No!" she exclaimed.

"Well, Toulouse–" I began, but she cut me off.

"Toulouse? Oh no! Not another of Toulouse's oh so talented, charmingly Bohemian, tragically impoverish proteges?"

I was slightly flattered. "Well you might say that."

"Oh no!" She gasped. "I'm going to kill him! I'm going to kill him!" I seriously hoped not, so I set about saving my new friend.

"Toulouse told me –"

"But the Duke!" Satine was nearing hysterics. "_The Duke_!"

"The Duke?" I was growing alarmed.

"Hide!" She half-whispered, half-screeched. "Out the back!"

Before I could do as she commanded, the door was burst open and Harold Zidler waltzed in. beaming and jovial. All I could do was drop to my knees behind the table and squeeze my eyes shut, praying I wouldn't be seen.


	4. Chapter 4

"My dear, are you decent for the Duke? Where were you?" Harold's didn't seem to notice as I tried to look out from behind my hiding place.

She stammered, "I- I-I was waiting..."

"Dearest Duke," Harold said with great pomposity. "Allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Satine."

I held my breath as Satine eased into a wonderful display of cool and collected hostess.

"Monsieur, how wonderful of you to take time out of your busy schedule to visit."

The Duke smiled his delicate smile beneath his blonde mustache and said in a thin voice, his eyes darting around the room, and coming entirely too near my hiding spot for either myself or Satine's comfort:

"The pleasure I fear will be entirely mine, my dear."

Harold said, "I'll leave you two squirrels to get better acquainted. Ta-ta!" And with that, he slammed the door shut on us.

My heart beat frantically against the walls of my chest, and I feared it would be heard as the Duke took Satine's hand and kissed it, murmuring, "A kiss on the hand may be quite continental..."

"But diamonds are a girl's best friend." Satine wagged her finger at him as she quoted the lyrics to her musical number she had performed to the delighted crowd. The one that had ended in such a strange accident...

The Duke spoke again, and I began to creep forward on my hands and knees to peer around the table cloth in search for a better hiding place, or better yet, a way of escape.

"After tonight's pretty exertions on the stage, you must surely be in need of some refreshment my dear."

I froze, a painting of two pudgy women scantily clad in vines before my eyes as I realized with horror the Duke was making his way toward my cover. I ducked back down and gritted my teeth. Satine came to my rescue with a shriek.

"DON'T!" The Duke stopped short and raised his eyebrows in shock, wondering what on earth was wrong with supper and wine.

"Don't – you just love the view? Hmmm?" Satine tossed her head, and eased through her amendment like a natural-born actress.

"Charming," the Duke agreed, turning back to the table. Satine was forced to more desperate measures. She began to make all manner of sounds in her throat and spin the tails of her dressing gown or whatever it was called about, and gasped.

"Oh! I feel like dancing." She growled like an animal, and the Duke smiled indulgently, reaching for the table yet again. I thought I would die.

"Would you like a glass of champagne?"

"NO!" Satine nearly screamed. The Duke turned to confront her, and she resorted to my poetry.

"It's a little bit funny..."

"What is?" The Duke scratched his head.

"This..." Satine skidded to a halt. I raised my head and mouthed to her. _Feeling. This feeling._

"Feeling!" she exclaimed, watching my mime as I pointed to my chest with both hands.

"...Inside."

The Duke did not takes his eyes from Satine's face and I did not take my eyes from it either as I supplied, _I'm not one of those who can easily..._

She followed me in as natural tone of voice she could rally, and yet again faltered. I covered my eyes with my hands and mouthed, _Hide!_

"Hide," she finished, giving the Duke a demure smile. He returned it, mildly amused, and reached again for the food.

"No!" Satine grabbed his arms, and wrapped them around her neck, murmuring, "I know I don't have much money, but if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could live."

The Duke's attention fully occupied, I dared to sally forth, and crept toward the door, as, looking over the Duke's shoulder, Satine caught my eye, singing, "I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world."

She shook her finger at me. At first I thought she was telling me to get out, but then I realized that she meant these words for me. I suddenly could not bring myself to leave the room.

"That's very beautiful," the Duke said, looking at the beautiful woman in his arms. She met his gaze through her lashes.

"It's from "Spectacular, Spectacular." Her voice, which had been a whisper, escalated, and she dared to shift her gaze to mine once more, saying, "Suddenly with you here, I finally understood the true meaning of those words. How wonderful life it now you're in the world."

I knew I must leave, and laid my hand on the door just as the Duke asked, "And what meaning is that, my dear?"

I opened the door just enough to slip quickly through, and I nearly collided with the armed valet, dodging back within as quickly as I had slipped out. Satine saw and threw herself on the bed, sobbing.

"No, no, no! Duke, don't you toy with my emotions." She reviled him with burning eyes and tempest-tossed hair. "You- you must know the effect you have on women."

He began to offer his amends, but she grabbed him and threw him down onto the bed, hissing, "Let's make love! You want to make love don't you?"

Ignoring his surprise, she began to jostle and wriggle beneath him, exclaiming and drawing his face forcibly down into her neck, "I knew you felt the same way!" He gave in. I could hardly watch.

She met my eyes even while she pretended to be overcome by his advances and gestured for me to get out! Get out! I shrugged, and crossed my arms. Her gaze grew steady, challenged. As if in response to my silent accusation, she pushed the Duke away.

"Yes, your right, we should wait, until opening night."

The Duke raised his head, his light hair disheveled, his mustache awry. "Wait? Wait?"

Satine nodded, putting her hands on his shoulders as she sat up. "There's a power in you that scares me," she breathed. "You should go." She propelled him toward the door.

"Go? But I just got here," the Duke protested.

"Oh yes, but we'll see each other every day during rehearsal. We must wait; we must until opening night." And with that she pushed him out the door and slammed it closed upon us. She turned to confront me, her brow bedewed with sweat, her eyes blazing.

"Do you have any idea, _any idea, _what would happen if you were to be found?" I did not, but I didn't have opportunity to say so, for suddenly, her gaze wavered, and she began to sway. I caught her as she fainted. I spoke her name, I shook her – then I realized what had happened as she hung limp in my arms.

I managed to get her to the bed and tumbled us both headlong, just as – oh, unfortunate! – the door opened again and the Duke reappeared, murmuring with a smile, "I forgot my hat." Then his smiled vanished. Satine stirred beneath me and opened her eyes.

"Foul play?" he demanded, beginning to shake.

I gestured helplessly. "She... I..."

"Oh, Duke," Satine breathed, sitting up and gently pushing me off her.

The Duke's mustache quivered in anger. "It's a little bit funny this feeling inside?" His voice was thin with suppressed rage.

"Yes!" With magnificent aplomb, Satine cupped my face in her hands and continued, "Yes, let me introduce you to the writer."

"The writer?" He was not buying it, but Satine would not give up.

"Yes, oh yes, we were- we were rehearsing." She got to her feet and I had the disturbing feeling that my face was bright red while hers was cool and pale.

The Duke advanced on us. "Oh ho, you expect me to believe that scantily clad in the  
arms of another man in the middle of the night inside an elephant, you were rehearsing?" His voice rose to a fevered pitch, and suddenly, Toulouse walked in, leaning on his ridiculously tiny cane and exclaiming:

"How's the rehearsal going?" The rascal must have been watching, but thank heavens he was. I have no other way to account for his sudden presence, or that of Satie and the doctor who were also suddenly there as well.

"I hope the piano's in tune," Satie said, hurrying to the keyboard and banging on the keys which let out a discordant clang. Toulouse tipped his face up toward Satine. "Shall we take it from the top, eh my queen?"

Just then, the door was burst open and Harold Zidler entered, crying out, "Oh my goodness!"

I opened my mouth to provide an explanation, but Satine got there first, looking the Duke in the eyes.

"When I spoke those words to you before, you filled me with such inspiration." He looked flattered, and she continued, "Yes, I realized how much work we had to do before tomorrow,  
so I called everyone together for an emergency rehearsal."

The Duke retained a hint of skepticism around the corners of his mouth, stuck in his mustache. "If you're rehearsing, where's Zidler?"

Lucky man, he had just arrived.

"My dear Duke, I'm most terribly sorry," he began, but Satine ran to him.

"Harold! You made it. It's all right, the Duke knows about the emergency rehearsal." Her eyes were wide, her gaze significant as he nodded and echoed her.

"Emergency rehearsal..."

"Hmm," Satine smiled. "...To incorporate the Duke's artistic ideas."

Zidler said, "Yes well I'm sure Audrey will be only your delight."

"It's not Audrey's work," Toulouse put in helpfully.

Satine quickly called out so all in the elephant could hear, "Harold, the cat's out of the bag. Yes the Duke's already a big fan of our new writer's work. That's why he's so keen to invest." Again, she made eyes at him, and this time Zidler employed his own ingenuity. He was a showman, after all.

"Invest? Invest! Oh yes, well invest! You can hardly blame me for trying to hide our..."

"Christian," Toulouse supplied.

"- Christian away."

The Duke could not bear to be outdone by Harold. "I'm way ahead of you, Zidler" he smirked.

"My dear Duke, why don't you and I go my office to produce the paper work." Harold was already on his way out, but the Duke thought of something no one else had.

"What's the story?"

"Story?" Zidler froze.

"Well if I'm going to invest, I need to know the story." The Duke favored Harold with a patronizing smile.

"Oh yes, well the story's about . . . Toulouse?" We all turned to the dwarf.

"Ah... the story- the story's about it's- it's about um..."

"It's about love!" All eyes were on me.

"Love?" The Duke curled his lip, and his scorn provided fuel for my passion.

"It's about love, over-coming all obstacles." I met Satine's eyes, and her gaze grew still. She understood. Oh, blessed day.

"And it's set in Switzerland!" Toulouse exulted. The idea of Switzerland, even exotic Switzerland did not seem to please the Duke, so I interrupted and corrected him.

"India! India! It's set in India!" I looked around me at the circle of faces and set my wits to work. "And there's a courtesan, the most beautiful courtesan in all the world..." My eyes were only for Satine. Then I spun and glared at the Duke, Satie, and Zidler who were watching me closely. "But her kingdom's invaded by and evil Maharaja. Now in order to save her kingdom, she has to seduce the  
evil Maharaja. But on the night of the seduction, she mistakes a penniless po –" Satine's eyes were boring into mine, and I realized I had my hands on my own chest. "A penniless..." An ancient sitar sat nearby and I grabbed it. "-A penniless sitar player. He plays for the evil Maharaja and she falls in love with him." I dared to meet Satine's gaze once again, and put as much earnestness as I dared into my voice. "He wasn't trying to trick her or anything. But he was dressed as a Maharaja because..." I was walking a narrow wire. "...He's appearing in a play." Sometimes the truth is the most easily-believed deception.

The Argentinean stepped forward and took the sitar from my arms. "I play the penniless sitar player, who sing like an angel, who dance like the devil!" He glared about him.

The Duke was intrigued. "And – and – and what happens next?"

"Well," I said, "the penniless sitar player and the courtesan, they have to hide their love from the evil Maharaja."

Satie stuck his head over my shoulder and put in, "The penniless sitar player's sitar is magical. It can only speak the truth." Good man.

"And I will play the magical sitar," Toulouse sang. He made the noise of a twangling instrument, and intoned, "You are beautiful..." The he did it again. "You are ugly... And you are –"

"And he gives the game away," said the Duke.

"Exactly!" we all exclaimed, and Harold waved his arms to calm the excitement.

"Tell them about the can-can."

"The – the – the – tantric can-can..." I stammered.

Harold advanced on the Duke, his mustache bristling with pent-up inspiration. "It's an erotic spectacular scene that captures the thrusting, violent, vibrant, wild Bohemian spirit this whole production embodies."

"What do you mean by that, my dear?" the Duke said a bit pettishly.

"The show will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan bedazzlement, a sensual ravishment! It will be Spectacular, Spectacular!"


End file.
